


Summer Memories

by thesnadger



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Amnesiac Grunkle Stan, Family Feels, Gen, May Contain Emotions, Scrapbook Therapy, memory recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8894200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesnadger/pseuds/thesnadger
Summary: Stan didn't recover his memories all at once-it took a full week of intensive scrapbook therapy for him to get them back. It's been one heck of a summer, that's for sure...and she's been there through all of it. This weird, kind, excitable little girl who calls him Grunkle Stan and who brought him back from the blankness in his head. This girl who trusted him when no one else could.





	1. Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Scribefindegil for betaing!

_You're our hero, Stanley..._

The old man shifted in the space between sleep and wakefulness, feeling the firm couch come into existence underneath him. The heartbroken face in his dream, in his memory, was slowly replaced as light leaked into him and filled his vision with another face. A soft, apple-cheeked one with eager brown eyes, and a smile big enough to swallow the sun.

“Good morning, Grunkle Stan!”

He'd been told his name was Stanley, though he still felt more comfortable with the name Stanford, but there was something warm and just _right_ in that name, Grunkle Stan. He blinked up at the girl leaning over him. He knew who she was. Mabel. His niece--no, his grand-niece. He knew who the man pressed against him was too, still snoring, with one arm slung across his chest. That was his twin brother. The true owner of the name Stanford Pines.

By now he had lots of memories of Mabel. He remembered letting her wind her yarn around his feet while he was watching TV so she could knit one of those big, crazy sweaters she loved. Remembered holding a bowl of pancake mix while she added in gummi koalas and toffee peanuts and everything else she'd found in the cabinet. He remembered driving his car through the town while blindfolded with her sitting on his lap shouting “Right turn! Now left! Hit the brakes, Grunkle Stan, you just ran over a stop sign!”

The image that stood out the most in his mind was what he still thought of as his first memory, even if he knew it must have come sixty-something years into his life. It was the image of her running up to him and leaping into his arms to hug him. And the look on her face when he didn't know why she'd done it.

He realized he didn't want to see that look on her face ever again.

“...How long were you standin' over me like that, kiddo?” the old man asked.

“Pfft, not long.” Mabel waved a hand dismissively. “Only about twenty minutes. You must have been _real_ sleepy, most people wake up after ten!” She grinned. “Ready for more scrapbook therapy?”

Stan—Stanley—Grunkle Stan carefully lifted his brother's arm off of his body and slipped out from the nest of blankets they'd made on the couch. The sleeping man shifted, grabbing a pillow and clutching it to himself against the sudden absence of a body beside him. Stan looked at him a little while. Trying to understand, or at least name, what he felt.

He'd seen this man's face in his dream. He'd called him a hero, and he hadn't been the last to do so. People never _stopped_ calling him that, it seemed. It was the one name people used with him that felt less like his own than 'Stanley.'

He accepted the little hand that Mabel offered him as she led him down the stairs, chatting happily.

“Do you want breakfast first?” she asked. “There's still more bacon left, or if you want we could see if you remember how to make Stancakes!”

Stan considered, searching his mind to see if there was anything he could connect to.

“What's that cereal you made me get at the beginning of the summer that's got the chocolate chips in it?” he asked.

“Baron Von Cookiestien? I think we still have some of that!” She ran ahead of him into the kitchen, dragged a chair up to one of the cabinets and began excitedly digging around. “Ah-ha! Just enough for two bowls!”

Stan got a carton of milk out of the fridge. If Mabel noticed that it took him four tries to find the bowls, she didn't say anything, and they ate their cereal while their siblings slept. Mabel liked to flip pieces into the air with her spoon, he noticed. It explained the Lucky Clovers marshmallows that were stuck to the kitchen ceiling. After breakfast, she led him outside to the couch on the porch and clambered up beside him with the massive scrapbook that she'd been reading to him from for the past two days.

“So! I know we looked through most of this already, but there's a lot of pictures and memories from this summer that I never got around to putting in pages. So last night, I made some Mabel Juice and stayed up putting a bunch of new stuff together. Hey, do you want to try Mabel Juice? You drank it once before, maybe you'll remember how much you hate it!”

At the words 'Mabel Juice' Stan felt his stomach gently gurgle in protest. Clearly some part of his anatomy remembered what that was even if his brain didn't.

“Maybe some other time.” he said.

Hearing a creak behind him, Stan turned. Waddles was nosing the porch door open. He toddled out, sniffing and snuffling in the air. Something seemed to grab his attention and he bounded over to Mabel, nibbling at the bottom of her socks.

“Uh oh,” she said. “Someone wants uppies!” Mabel set the scrapbook aside momentarily and helped her beloved little butterball climb up onto the couch between them.

The pig was clearly used to having the run of the house—he made himself comfortable on the couch and rolled onto his back, luxuriating in the beam of sunlight that fell across his pink stomach. His head ended up falling onto Stan's lap and he nestled it there, snorting contentedly. Stan couldn't help smiling as he rubbed underneath Waddles' chin. Little stinker knew Stan was too much of a sap to shove him off.

“Heh. Little pork chop's pretty affectionate, isn't he?” Stan chuckled.

“Well of course, Waddles loves you Grunkle Stan!” Mabel exclaimed. “You're his hero!”

“Yeah?” That word again. Coming from her Stan could almost believe it. Almost. If nothing else he sensed there was a story behind it. “What'd I do, save him from a barbecuer?”

“Even better!” Mabel picked Waddles up and gave him a squeeze, wiggling his front legs like cheering arms—man, that pig was more laid back than most inanimate objects. “You saved him from a pterodactyl!”

“You're yanking my chain.” Stan said.

“I'm totally not! Your chain is completely un-yanked!” Mabel grinned. “It was a real pterodactyl! I didn't get any pictures of it, but I made this artistic rendering....”

Mabel flipped forward in the scrapbook and pointed to a drawing she'd made in crayon. It was indeed a pterodactyl, carrying away Waddles in its talons. Stan stared at it and frowned. Something about the drawing wasn't right...Red. Something was supposed to be red. Blood? No, yarn. A trail of red yarn from a red sweater....

“You jumped on its back while it was flying and punched it right in the face, over and over! It was amazing! It's a shame I don't have any pictures, but...”

Whatever else Mabel was saying faded into the background. Stan looked from the drawing out onto the lawn in front of the shack. It was starting to come back now....she'd asked him to watch her pig. But he'd been a nuisance, so he'd tied him up outside...that's when.....

Stan felt sick. He stood up, letting Waddles' head fall to the cushion with only the softest oink of protest.

“Grunkle Stan?” Mabel looked up from her scrapbook with an expression of concern.

Of course. It all made sense, didn't it? Of course this wide-eyed kid would believe some crazy story he'd made up about fighting off a dinosaur for her pet. Of course she thought he was a hero. She didn't know any better.

“Are you okay? Did you remember something?” He glanced back to see Mabel holding Waddles on her lap, angling him towards him. “Do you need pig kisses?”

Stan turned back out towards the lawn. Dammit. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve all this concern, all this attention. All the love and time that this kid and her brother and _his_ brother and all the others were lavishing on him. Most of all he didn't deserve the love and trust and worry in Mabel's face when she looked at him. He was a heel. A damned short-sighted selfish dummy that'd almost gotten her pet killed and then lied about it to cover his tracks.

He sighed heavily. He may not have had the guts to tell her when it happened, but he'd be damned if he was going to lie to her again. She deserved the truth. He owed her that much—he owed her a lot more than that, more than he could ever pay back, but at least he owed her that much.

“That didn't happen.” He said. May as well be blunt about it. Spit it out as fast as he could so he didn't have room to back out if he turned cowardly again.

“What?” Mabel asked.

“I didn't...” He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I didn't fight the pterodactyl. That was just some story I made up. I put your pig outside when you told me not to and the da—ah, darn thing came outta the sky and just swept him up and carried him away.” Stan stared forward so he didn't have to see her face. “And I didn't do anything about it.”

There was a pause, then her voice came from behind him. “Oh, I already knew about that!”

What? He heard a quiet thump, then felt a tug on his arm. Mabel was beside him, pulling him back towards the couch.

“I know about the part where you lied, Grunkle Stan. And yeah, I was _so mad_ when I found out. I said I was never gonna talk to you ever again! But then you and Waddles fell and we were _so_ scared and the pterodactyl came after you, and you put Waddles on your back and protected him! And you really _did_ punch a dinosaur in the face. We all saw it, it was amazing! You were scared and you didn't want to fight it but you did to save Waddles for me. Because you love me! And because maybe deep down you've got a soft spot for him toooo? Eh? Eh?”

Mabel held the pig out again and wiggled his hooves. Stan stared, trying to absorb her words.

“I can prove it, sort of!” Mabel said, flipping through the scrapbook. “I don't have any pictures but I've got this...”

She reached down and pulled a tiny olive green fleck of something out of a little plastic sleeve that was taped to the page and held it out for him to examine.

“When you got home you were cleaning your cuts and stuff and you pulled this dinosaur scale out of your hand. You said we could keep it as a souvenir and didn't even try to charge us for it and since Dipper got the tooth we decided I could have the scale! See? You even still have the scar.”

Mabel took his hand and turned it, palm down, holding the small broken scale up beside it. He could barely see it, but there it was. A tiny pink line on his third finger, curved and just as wide as the scale. He stared at his hand, held between both of hers. Then he jumped as Mabel dove forward and gave him a hug.

“So don't be sad,” she said. “I already forgave you for lying. And I'm really glad you're okay and remembering stuff again. I'd be so sad if...if you really forgot everything from this summer.”

Stan was sure he heard a waver in her voice when she said that, and he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her back. Holding her tightly as if he could squeeze out that tiny note of sadness he had heard in her voice. After a few minutes, she began to wiggle.

“Aww, but you made me skip ahead in the story!” Mabel pulled away, smiling now, and put the scale back in the scrapbook. “There's so much more to tell!”

“Yeah?” Stan smiled back at her, trying hard to keep his own voice steady. How did she do it? How did she feel everything so strongly and still smile? “Tell me about it.”

Mabel cleared her throat. “It all began one day when I was watching TV and saw an advertisement for a huggy-wuvvy-tummy-bundle!” She turned the page back and pointed to a picture of herself, proudly carrying Waddles in a blue-green harness strapped around her chest. “I immediately knew that I had to know the joy of feeling my pig's heartbeat next to mine as I frolicked with him in the forest. So I hurried out to buy one, leaving Waddles in the capable, if grumpy, hands of my Grunkle Stan...”

Waddles let his head fall back onto Stan's lap as Stan sank into the couch. He kept one arm around Mabel as she told him about himself. About what he had done over this summer. He listened as the gaps in his mind filled themselves in one by one, and he slowly began to remember things. Not just about himself, but about his family. About the people in the town that he knew.

And about the girl beside him, small and powerful as a promise. Who looked at him with eyes that told him life was worth remembering. This girl with the power to somehow, impossibly, make him feel like a hero.

 


	2. Lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody say "something stupid!"

“...And to think, it was all over this little butterball!” Stan smiled, holding Waddles in the air. “I tell ya, this pig has got a real talent for being in the right place at the right time. Still can't believe the first thing I remembered was his name. Not my first crush, not our ma, I remembered the pig. Unbelievable.”

Ford chuckled, subtly sketching the scene in front of him, hoping Stan wouldn't notice he was being drawn. There had just been so much joy in his face, so much warm enthusiasm as he re-told the story he'd learned from Mabel that morning. Ford wanted to capture it in case it went away.

“And I'm pretty sure I remember something about digging another one of those dinos outta the amber back when everything got weird. Wonder if the rest are still down there...that'd make one heck of a tourist attraction, eh Ford?” Stan said.

“Only you would see a cavern full of perfectly preserved ancient archosaurs and immediately think of charging tickets for them.” Ford smiled.

“Hey, I can't help it if I got all the business sense in this family.” Stan grinned and pointed to himself with his thumbs. “At least, I think I did. What does Shermie do for a living, anyway?”

“Oh. Honestly...the last time I spoke with our parents he was still in school,” Ford bit down on the end of his pen. “I...sort of fell out of contact for a while, and then....well...” he trailed off, shrugging helplessly. “Then I wasn't in this dimension anymore.”

“Oh...right.” Stan said, his expression changing. There it went, just as Ford had known it would...at least he still had the sketch.

“But...ah, I'm sure the kids know!” Ford said, trying to salvage things. “They must have all kinds of stories about their grandfather, and their parents! We can learn about them together, you and I.”

“Sounds good.” Stan said, looking back at him and smiling. No. Something wasn't right about that smile. It was for Ford's benefit, he was sure. “Where are those kids anyway? How long does it take to make a couple of sandwiches...”

“We're finished!” Mabel's voice came from from the kitchen. “Just a second!”

Ford's eyes widened as Dipper and Mabel walked into the TV room, carrying several trays between them. They set everything down on the card table with great flourish—a stack of miniature sandwiches, UFO-shaped cookies, bowls of candy, chips and cheese boodles, and four brimming glasses of bright red punch. The cookies must have been freshly baked, both them had managed to get some amount of flour, frosting or cheese dust on their clothes in the process of preparing this feast.

“Hot pumpkin pie! You kids didn't have to do all this...” Stan said. His smile was back and looked natural again, and Ford, not for the first time that day, felt a wave of quiet gratitude directed at the children.

“It's a themed lunch!” Dipper said. “We wanted to see if you could remember what all these foods have in common, Grunkle Stan.”

“Well, lemmie take a look...” Stan stood up from his easy chair and examined the spread in front of him. He looked thoughtfully at the bowls and plates piled high with snacks. He picked up one of the cookies and turned it around in his hands. For a long while, he just stared. Ford wasn't certain, but he sensed the beginnings of frustration in his twin. Mabel took Stan's hand and started pulling him towards a chair.

“It's okay if you don't remember, it was just for fun anyway! Maybe after we eat some--”

“Confetti.” Stan said suddenly. “Somethin' with a lot of confetti. And...” he made a face. “Something rotten. And something with a blacklight?”

“Yes! Yes, that's exactly right!” Mabel screamed, jumping up and down, pulling on the arm she still held. “Aaaaah, I knew it! I knew you'd remember!”

“Can you remember anything else?” Dipper asked excitedly.

Stan laughed, lifting his arm up in the air and taking Mabel with it, until she was holding onto him with her legs dangling and a broad smile on her face. “Gimmie a hint, huh? I don't have much to work with....”

“All of this is food we had at the Shack's Grand Re-Opening Party, after Gideon was defeated....” Dipper said.

“Gideon...” Stan said. “Wait a minute. That name sounds familiar. ...Do I hate him?”

“Yes!” Mabel cried. “He's a creepy little jerk and he tried to take the Shack away!”

“He attacked us in a giant robot, but we kicked his butt! And you exposed him as a fraud in front of the whole town!” Dipper said.

“How 'bout that...” Stan smiled a little, setting Mabel down on the chair. “Tell me more about the party....”

“It was a night to remember! The whole town showed up...there was dancing, and singing, and movin' to the groovin'! Of course, Dipper had to go and blow it by raising an army of the undead.” Mabel said, rolling her eyes.

“...Wait, what?” Ford looked up from the legal pad on which he'd been sketching Stan and the kids. Dipper had written about zombies attacking in his journal, but Ford had assumed that it had only been one or two stray renevants, the kind that show up periodically in Gravity Falls. He never mentioned anything about a _mass_ of them.

“Mabel! I didn't...well...okay, yeah. I raised an army of the undead.” Dipper sighed. “I didn't think it would turn out to be such a big deal.”

“Where did you even find the incantation to--” Ford trailed off as realization slowly hit him. He groaned. “Oh....oh no. Of course.”

“I just...there were these government guys who said they were trying to figure out the secrets of Gravity Falls, but they wouldn't listen to me when I told them about all the weird stuff that was happening, and I wanted to prove it to them, so...I...sort of flipped to the pages on spells and read the first one I saw out loud. Wow, it really does sound like a bad idea when I put it like that.”

“Soos was dead for a while!” Mabel said. “He told me that he still kinda craves brains every now and then.”

“I knew I should never have written that spell down.” Ford shook his head. “Curse my need for thorough note-taking!”

“It's okay, though! Because Grunkle Stan saved us!” Mabel jumped off the chair. “We were cornered in the gift shop and one of the zombies grabbed Dipper, and we were _so_ scared! But then- _pow!_ ” She looked up at Stan and mimed swinging something in her hands. “You came out of nowhere swinging a bat and knocked the dumb zombie's head off!”

“Oh yeah?” Stan said, his tone indulgent. He sat down and started munching on one of the cookies.

“Yeah, there were a ton of them!” Dipper said. “They were coming from every direction, you told us to run up to the attic and held them off all by yourself!”

“You were so brave, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel gushed, miming punches in the air.

Ford smiled at Stan, who was looking at the kids with a bemused expression, rubbing the back of his neck. Ford wasn't sure, but he sensed a little doubt in Stan. As if he still wasn't sure what to believe was reality and what was a flight of childish fancy. Well...as the only other adult, it was up to him to clarify things.

“I'm not surprised.” Ford said. “When we were children, Stan was always defending me from bullies. It didn't matter who it was, how much older or bigger they were...if he saw me in trouble he'd put himself between me and my tormentor. Fearlessly.”

Stan looked at Ford questioningly. Searching his expression for a sign of mockery, or a hint that he was only playing along with the kids. “Yeah? We ever go up against any zombies?”

“You joke, but I still have my suspicions about little Timmy Carmichael.” Ford replied seriously.

“They cornered all of us in the attic.” Dipper tugged at Stan's sleeve. “That's when you told me how you'd been lying all summer...because you thought that if you kept telling me that there was nothing supernatural going on I'd stop trying to look for it.”

“I did?” Stan scratched his head. “Wow, that was dumb.”

“Really dumb!” Dipper agreed. “Do you remember it yet?”

“...Not really.” Stan shrugged. “Maybe more of these'll help.” he said, reaching for another cookie.

“Pictures help....” Mabel pulled a stack of photos out from her pocket and started flipping through them. She climbed up onto Stan's lap and held a few out towards him. “...I've got some from the party, but when the zombies attacked we were too busy running for our lives to take photos....”

Stan took the pictures and starred at them, frowning. “I...kind of remember putting up decorations....”

“I guess you weren't really at the party itself very much...after the first few minutes you went off somewhere the way you sometimes do—oh. Wow.” She paused and looked back up at him. “I just realized, you were downstairs, weren't you?”

“Probably.” Stan said. “I remember spending a whole heck of a lot of time down there, that's for sure.”

Ford glanced back down at the notepad in his lap, adding a detail or two to his sketch. The figures drawn on paper were suddenly a lot easier to look at than the ones sitting in front of him.

“I've got an idea!” Ford looked back up as Mabel hopped down from Stan's lap and held out her hands. “Nobody move, I'll be right back!”

Ford watched as she ran for the stairs. Above him, he heard the loud, fast sound of running footsteps and something being dragged around. A moment later, Mabel appeared in the doorframe again.

“Okay!” she shouted, visibly out of breath. “You can move again!”

“Whatcha got there, pumpkin?” Stan asked.

Ford was curious about that himself...she was holding some sort of tiny rectangular machine, with a pink case and what looked like a screen on the front.

“Something that'll help!” Mabel said, explaining nothing. “The karaoke machine was a rental, but I found a wordless version of the song online....”

“Oh no,” Dipper groaned. “Mabel, please....”

“See, we found out how to stop the zombies when Grunkle Ford's journal accidentally fell under a blacklight!” Mabel explained. “The three of us had to destroy them with love, and togetherness, and most importantly, singing!” She flashed a grin at Dipper. “You remember the words, right brobro? I know you do cause I heard you singing it in the bathroom!”

“Mabel, I don't think....”

“C'mon, Dipper! It's for Grunkle Stan!”

Ford watched as Dipper shifted uncomfortably, glancing at him. The poor boy...his experiences fighting the hoard of the undead must have traumatized him so badly, he couldn't bear to relive any part of it. Ford went down on one knee and put a hand on Dipper's shoulder.

“I know this must be hard to handle, Dipper...”

“What? No, no. I can handle it, it's just....” he squirmed. “Agh, never mind. Fine, I'll sing....”

“That's the spirit!” Ford squeezed Dipper's shoulder before letting go, pride swelling in him. “Face your fears head-on!”

“Ready?” Mabel grinned. “A-one, and a-two, and---” She pressed a button on the side and cheerful pop music started coming from the device in her hand, clearly some sort of portable music player.

Mabel held the device up to her face like a microphone and began to enthusiastically sing along with the melody.

“Friday night, we're gonna party till dawn!” she sang, holding the music player out towards Dipper.

Dipper muttered a line that Ford couldn't quite make out in response, looking at his shoes. He was so brave.

Mabel continued to sing, throwing in a few dramatic steps and swoops of her arms. Stan didn't react much at first...but slowly, his hand began to tap out the rhythm on the side of his thigh. After a moment, Mabel paused and she and Dipper both looked at Stan expectantly...apparently it was his line, but would he know any of the words?

At first it seemed the answer was no. Stan looked back blankly as the instrumentals played. But then his brow knitted and he started to hum.

“Hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm...hmm hmm hmm the door,” A smile broke out across his face and he stood up, punching a fist in the air. “ _We're taking over the dance floor!_ ”

Mabel screamed loud enough for Dipper to wince and leaped towards Stan, who managed to catch her in his arms as the three of them started singing together.

“ _Whoa-_ oh _! Girls do what we like!_ Whoa- _oh! We're taking over to-night!_ ”

The three of them got louder and louder the further along in the song they went, and Ford couldn't help but think he needed to re-evaluate whether “harmony” was very important in creating the sort of sound that shattered zombie skulls after all.

Or maybe he just needed to expand his definition of harmony beyond the sonic.

He watched, smiling, while the three of them sang, completely swept up in the moment. He wondered if they'd sung with this kind of enthusiasm when it was really happening, or if fear had held them back. He suspected the former. There was a joy in their voices that was simply too powerful to be denied.

The song must have been Mabel's idea, Ford realized. The lyrics were clearly her taste, after all. Had she dragged Stan and Dipper out of the attic and pressed them to sing? If he knew his brother, Stan had probably been more frightened at the prospect of singing in public than facing a horde of the undead. But he'd have done it for her. She'd have found a way to talk him into trying it.

Ford had underestimated her. He'd underestimated a lot of people, but her in particular. He wasn't planning on making that mistake again.

The song ended and Stan raised his fist in the air, shouting _Pines! Pines! Pines!_ The chant took Ford by surprise. His chest tightened and his mind suddenly filled with memories of his own...days spent exploring the beach, to grand plans made in the blanket fort he and Stanley had constructed in their room together. He swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. The kids joined in the chant, Mabel up on Stan's shoulder, Dipper beside him punching the air so enthusiastically and with so much force it looked like the little guy might lift off and propel himself into space.

It was like watching them from behind the glass of a window...seeing them relive a moment that he wasn't a part of. But that was all right. A window could be opened. A door could be unlocked. A family lost could be found again, and a relationship could be repaired. There was hope. Hope for him, and for Stan, and thanks to the bravery of the three people standing before him, for the world.

 


End file.
